


Baby, You're So Cold

by mytinystars



Series: Figure Skating Slices of Life [7]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ice Skating, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other Idols make cameos - Freeform, this took so long to write but only bc i got suuper carried away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytinystars/pseuds/mytinystars
Summary: Aspiring Olympic figure skater Chae Hyungwon, known as Korea's Ice Prince, meets Lim Changkyun, the prodigy dubbed Korea's Sunshine.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Im Changkyun | I.M
Series: Figure Skating Slices of Life [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531790
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	Baby, You're So Cold

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this was actually requested by ChangkyunIsMyBaby on my Beauty of Ice oneshot book, but since I loved the plot so much and got _way_ too carried away, I decided to post it both in the oneshot book and as its own fic. It was such a pleasure to write this, it really was. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Side note: the ages have been changed slightly. For the sake of this story, Hyungwon was born in 1996, and Kyun was born in 1998. Also, Hyungwon is blonde, because Blonde Ice Prince Hyungwon is yes
> 
> [Hyungwon’s Olympic Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNLgtt-rRlw&list=PLQakza9kEFrJVqZOdnMor1bLjWXp-Fl-q&index=12) / [Hyungwon’s Olympic Costume](https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/Txc4GST1ybJSh4mPs90iTHlXtVs=/0x0:1099x733/1400x1400/filters:focal\(0x0:1099x733\):format\(jpeg\)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/28622761/yuzuru_hanyu013.0.jpg)

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Skate Canada — Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. November 2014._ **

Hyungwon meets him for the first time at his second competition at the senior international level. 

At first, Hyungwon doesn’t think anything of him. He’s just another kid who wants recognition. Lim Changkyun is a name that means nothing to Korea’s Ice Prince.

This year, they’re the only two competitors in the Grand Prix series who are representing Korea, and by coincidence, they’re both competing in Skate Canada. Truthfully, Hyungwon doesn’t care about the other kid at all until he’s asked about him in the press conference before the competition begins.

“How do you feel about your new teammate, Lim Changkyun?” A reporter asks. Her eyes are wide with curiosity.

Hyungwon furrows his brow. New teammate? Hyungwon doesn’t have teammates. 

“What do you mean, how do I feel?” Hyungwon asks bluntly. Standing off to the side, behind the reporters, Jiyong’s gaze sharpens into a stern glare. Hyungwon fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Sorry, can you explain a little more?”

“He’s a two time Junior World Champion, and a three time Korean Junior National Champion. He’s a new favorite of many figure skating fans these days. Do you feel threatened by him?”

Threatened? He’s never even met the kid. Hyungwon could’ve laughed in her face. But the dark stare he’s getting from Jiyong tells him to think carefully before he speaks. 

“I have no plans to lose.” Hyungwon says coolly. 

The reporters seem to want to know more, but at that moment the warm up before the short program is called. Hyungwon is skating in the second group, so he has more time before he gets on the ice, but he’s relieved when the flock of reporters begins to disperse. He can tell a lecture is imminent, though, by the look on Jiyong’s face as he wades through the throng of people towards the small dais Hyungwon stands on.

“You need to work on your people skills,” Jiyong says lowly as they begin walking towards the warm up room behind the curtains. “They’re just as important as skating if you want to be successful in this world. If you’re an asshole to reporters, you’re not going to be a fan favorite.”

Hyungwon doesn’t reply as he shrugs into his Team Korea jacket. He doesn’t care about being liked. 

* * *

There’s a television in the warm up room where Hyungwon is stretching, and he watches the free skate as it happens while going through his split sequences. The first group is full of skaters who are making their senior debut, and their nervousness is palpable; he can almost feel their anxiety through the television screen. 

He sits up a little straighter when Lim Changkyun takes the ice. He’s the last skater in the first group, and to Hyungwon’s surprise, he’s the only one who doesn’t look like a total wreck as he steps onto the surface, raising his arms at the deafening applause that greets him. His costume is black and grey; it’s pretty simplistic, actually, and it looks good on him. The camera zooms in on his face as he reaches his beginning pose. He’s dark haired and dark eyed, and he has a gracefully long nose and thin lips.

Hyungwon glances over his shoulder when he feels a presence beside him. Jiyong, with his arms crossed over his chest, is standing next to him. His eyes are trained on the television. He’s wearing what Minhyuk likes to call his Coaching Face: his lips are pursed and his eyes are narrow and calculating. Hyungwon looks back at the screen as the music begins, and then the kid is off.

“Who’s his coach?” Hyungwon asks.

“Kim Heechul,” Jiyong replies distantly.

Hyungwon throws a smirk at Jiyong over his shoulder, and Jiyong glances at him, amused. Heechul had been Jiyong’s biggest rival while they were competing. Now that they’re both coaching, they’re competing to put their students on top instead.

Lim Changkyun isn’t bad, Hyungwon realizes fairly quickly. Unlike all the other boys in the first group, Changkyun looks totally comfortable on the ice. His movements are fluid and connected, graceful and clean. It dawns on Hyungwon instantly that he’s a leftie. His first jump, a triple axel, has excellent height and he has a nice, tight air position. Hyungwon is pleasantly surprised, actually; Changkyun is the first skater Hyungwon has seen who doesn’t look like a baby giraffe learning to walk for the first time.

(Okay, so maybe that was a little mean. Hyungwon remembers his nerves when he’d finally moved to the senior level, two years ago. But a gold medal at his first senior competition had swiftly and permanently banished the anxiety.)

Changkyun throws a quadruple toe loop, and it gets two bonus points for grade of execution. Hyungwon is trying not to be impressed. His last jump is a triple lutz, triple toe loop, which is also landed cleanly and fully rotated. Behind him, Jiyong makes a noise that Hyungwon knows means he’s either satisfied or impressed.

Changkyun has the audience on its feet by the time he’s finished. People in the audience are waving Korean flags and signs with Changkyun’s name. This surprises Hyungwon; it seems the reporter was right. He feels as though this kid has come out of nowhere, but that could be because Hyungwon doesn’t watch junior competitions anymore. He only watches senior competitions that he’s not actively competing in, and that’s only if he feels up to it in the moment. This kid has been around for a couple of years. 

Hyungwon just hasn’t been paying attention, it seems.

“Not bad,” Jiyong says as the kid takes a bow. “Not bad at all.”

Something in Hyungwon’s stomach clenches when the kid’s short program score appears on the television screen. 89.72. Changkyun’s coach hugs him tightly, and he smiles a wide, toothy smile.

That score is too close to Hyungwon’s own most recent short program score. He’ll have to make sure the kid knows who the king is.

Hyungwon is skating very last in the short program, so he still has a while to wait after the six minute warm up. Before the competition started, the only other person Hyungwon was even remotely concerned about in terms of technical skill is Zhang Yixing, who Hyungwon knows is a fierce competitor. He’s older than Hyungwon and is therefore more experienced, and he has a couple of brilliant quadruple jumps in his arsenal. 

But Yixing takes a hard fall on his quadruple loop and pops his triple axel into a single when it’s his turn on the ice, and he places fifth with a 79.12, a full ten points behind Lim Changkyun. 

So, Hyungwon is nothing less than confident when he steps onto the ice, glittering in his dark purple costume, and he holds his blonde head high as he glides out into the middle of the rink. The cheers of the audience and his own name being chanted is music to his ears, but it silences quickly as the first keys of his music begin.

He usually puts his everything into every routine, but this time he pushes himself a little harder than normal. His landings are sharper and his movements are fast and in time; he gets great height on all of his jumps; his edges are deep and beautiful. He goes through the program one element at a time, as Jiyong often tells him to, and by the time the music finishes, his heart is light and airy. He feels like he’s been walking on clouds.

As is customary, the crowd erupts into cheers and screams, and Hyungwon gives himself a moment to breathe, feeling exceptionally proud of himself. He exhales, then takes his final bow, and heads towards Jiyong. The coach is smiling, nodding, as he unlocks the barrier door with Hyungwon’s turquoise blade guards in hand. 

“Excellent job, Hyungwon,” Jiyong says, voice laced deep with satisfaction. 

Jiyong claps Hyungwon on the shoulder as Hyungwon pulls his guards onto his blades. As he stands back up he tosses his blonde bangs out of his eyes. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and he follows Jiyong towards the Kiss and Cry.

They wait for about five minutes. Jiyong’s expression is blank, but Hyungwon knows he’s looking forward to the score just as eagerly as Hyungwon is. 

“The score please…”

Hyungwon grins widely. The crowd explodes again. 95.23.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jiyong laughs, grinning as he takes Hyungwon’s hand. “That’s the score of a winner!”

Hyungwon’s smile gets wider. That’s what he likes to hear.

* * *

Because Hyungwon is first after the short program, he’s going last in the free skate. This also means he’ll be warming up with Changkyun, because Changkyun will be second to last in the free skate. As the announcer calls for the second group to begin warmup, Hyungwon hands Jiyong his blade guards. The two men standing by the barrier doors pull them open to allow the skaters onto the ice.

“Triple axel,” Jiyong instructs as Hyungwon walks by. Hyungwon nods once, stepping onto the ice.

As he does so, he catches sight of Changkyun talking to Heechul. Hyungwon can barely see Heechul’s face behind his curtain of long, curly hair, but he’s talking animatedly to Changkyun, who is listening intently. He’s wearing his Team Korea jacket, so Hyungwon can’t see his costume, but he can see the smoky eyeshadow and light makeup on Changkyun’s face.

After warming up a couple of single and double jumps, Hyungwon throws a triple axel, and relishes in the burst of applause from the audience that follows the very moment his blade touches down again. He glances at Jiyong, who nods and beckons him over. As Hyungwon glides towards his coach, he unzips and pulls off his Team Korea jacket and Jiyong reaches for it.

“Lutz,” Jiyong says, taking the jacket and folding it over his arm. “Triple.”

Hyungwon nods again and turns away, and looks across the rink just in time to watch Changkyun leap into a quadruple toe loop. And it’s brilliant. The crowd loses its mind again. 

Undeterred, Hyungwon ignores him, and does his lutz as Jiyong instructed. He lands it solidly, and he grins at the screams from the audience. 

The six minutes of warm up time go by very quickly, and it feels like only thirty seconds later when time is called and Hyungwon follows the other skaters off the ice. As the doors shut behind him and the announcer calls the next skater’s name, Jiyong hands Hyungwon his jacket and blade guards.

“Bring your knee through in your flip,” Jiyong advises, “and your head back in your biellmann spin.”

Hyungwon nods, a little breathless. He’s not overly worried, but the competition mindset will always include a little anxiety. He stuffs his earbuds into his ears as soon as the first skater’s music begins to play, and follows Jiyong behind the curtains, where he sits in his dressing room for nearly half an hour.

“Hyungwon,” Jiyong calls eventually. Hyungwon looks over at him, pulling one earbud out. “Do you want to watch Changkyun skate? He’s next.”

Hyungwon scoffs. “I’ve seen enough of him already.”

“If you say so,” Jiyong shrugs, then adds with a smirk, “I’m betting you’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the future.”

Hyungwon ignores the comment and puts his earbud back into his ear. Five minutes later, Jiyong appears again, signalling that it’s finally Hyungwon’s turn.

“What’s his score?” Hyungwon asks casually, following Jiyong back into the rink area.

“One hundred and eighty-eight point two six,” Jiyong says. 

Hyungwon narrows his eyes. That’s three points higher than Hyungwon’s personal best. He remains silent as he pulls off his blade guards and jacket, handing both to Jiyong and stepping onto the ice. It’s all bitten and scratched up by the previous skaters, to Hyungwon’s chagrin. It’s one of the perks of going last in the free skate, Hyungwon guesses—if you’re first after the short program, you get marked up ice to skate on. Oh well. Hyungwon has skated on worse surfaces.

He turns to his coach on the other side of the half-wall, awaiting his pre-competition pep talk.

Jiyong takes Hyungwon’s hand in a firm grip and leans in close. “You gonna let him take your gold?”

“Not a chance,” Hyungwon murmurs stonily.

Jiyong nods with a gentle smirk and shakes Hyungwon’s hand, still holding it tightly. “Knee through in the flip. Head back in the biellmann. One element at a time.”

Hyungwon nods. One element at a time. 

“Take a deep breath.”

Hyungwon does so; he rolls his shoulders back and shakes out his arms on the exhale. Jiyong lets go of his hand, smiles and gives him another encouraging nod. 

“And the last skater in the free skate, representing South Korea, Chae Hyungwon!”

He pushes off the wall towards the centre of the ice, raising his arms as the audience cheers. He can see Korean flags and big, elaborate posters and signs with his name, both in English and Hangul. He smiles to himself, taking his beginning pose.

He’s performed this routine a million times over. He knows it by heart. He lets his body take over, because his muscles know what to do; he allows his body to feel the music in its entirety. His opening quadruple toe loop-triple toe-double toe is flawless, and he grins: that’s easily about fifteen points alone. One thing he can appreciate is that the judges know how to score his programs properly. He knows when his jumps deserve positive grade of execution points, and he’s satisfied to see that the judges are competent enough to know as well.

He lands all of his jumps. He brings his knee through on his triple flip; he leans his head back in his biellmann spin, just like Jiyong instructed. When the music ends, Hyungwon tunes back into the world and the first thing he registers is the applause. It’s thunderous, and the dome almost shakes from the intensity. He grins, and several members of the audience throw little lavender bears onto the ice as he takes a bow. 

As he skates towards Jiyong, he picks up one of the little purple bears and smiles at it. It has cute, sleepy eyes and a double chin, and it’s dressed in pajamas. 

Jiyong greets him with his Team Korea jacket and blade guards as he steps off the ice, and he claps Hyungwon on the back, grinning, as he pulls the guards onto his blades.

“Well done, Hyungwon,” he says brightly. “Excellent job.”

Hyungwon is still a little winded from the adrenaline and exerting himself, so all he does is nod gratefully and smile.

His ears ring from the loudness of the cheers that follow his free skate score. 194.57. A new personal best, and a first place finish.

* * *

The medal ceremony takes place the next night, after the ice dance segment of the competition. It’s a relatively small competition compared to, say, the Olympics or the World Championships, but as Hyungwon and Changkyun took first and second respectively and are from the same country, they’re asked to stand on the first place podium together and hold a Korean flag. 

Changkyun smiles at him as he joins Hyungwon on the first place podium, and Hyungwon gives him a smile that feels and probably looks more like a grimace. The silver medallion around Changkyun’s neck catches the lights above them and as he stoops to receive the Korean flag from his coach, it swings back and forth. 

Hyungwon takes one end of the flag as Changkyun unfolds it and they open it together, letting it hang in front of their bodies—but not so high it hides their medals. On the third place podium, a half a foot below them, a skater from Spain wears his flag like a cape, but the bronze of his award doesn’t shine as bright as Hyungwon’s gold.

“Congratulations on your gold,” Changkyun says suddenly, startling Hyungwon a little. His voice is deeper than Hyungwon had expected. The kid is baby-faced, he really is; he has a long, sharp nose, but a head of fluffy dark hair, plump cheeks and a sweet, small smile. It’s no wonder the Korean public seems to love him. He’s like the Korean Shoma Uno.

Hyungwon nods shortly. “Thank you.” 

And he leaves it at that.

He feels Changkyun’s eyes on him for a moment, but keeps smiling at the cameras and the crowd as the Korean anthem begins to play. The gold medal, resting squarely on his sternum, is pulling painfully on his neck, but a weight this heavy has never felt so good. 

* * *

A month later, the Grand Prix Final occurs in Barcelona. Hyungwon takes gold and Changkyun takes bronze. Of course, their podium finishes had required them to stand together with the Korean flag again, which had been nothing short of awkward as Changkyun had tried to congratulate Hyungwon on his third gold of the season. When Hyungwon finally returns to Korea, he’s more than a little glad to be rid of the boy, at least until they go head to head at Nationals.

Jiyong gives him exactly two days off to recover from the excessive traveling. Minhyuk invites himself over both of those days.

“Let’s see them, then,” Minhyuk demands within five minutes of stepping into Hyungwon’s apartment.

Grinning silently, Hyungwon leads Minhyuk into his bedroom, where the three gold medals he’d received in Canada, Russia and Barcelona are hanging on the sparkly blue medal rack on his wall. Hyungwon stands proudly with his hands on his hips as Minhyuk inspects the medals with a wide grin.

“Congratulations,” Minhyuk says. “They’re the first thing you see when you wake up and the last thing you see before you go to bed.”

“I did that on purpose,” Hyungwon says pointedly.

“Of course you did.”

Minhyuk accompanies Hyungwon to his physiotherapy appointment the next day before practice, as well. Being a university student, Minhyuk’s schedule is more flexible than it had been when they were high school students, and Hyungwon appreciates it when he makes time to spend with Hyungwon. Between Hyungwon’s training and Minhyuk’s classes, they don’t get to see each other as often as they did when they were kids. They’d grown up together; they’ve been friends since elementary school. Even university couldn’t separate them: when Hyungwon decided to forgo university for the time being to focus on skating, Minhyuk chose to attend the university nearest to Hyungwon’s training facility. He’d said he’d done it because he hadn’t wanted Hyungwon to be lonely all the way in Seoul, since Hyungwon’s family had stayed behind in Gwangju, but Hyungwon has always suspected that Minhyuk did it because he’d miss him.

However, Minhyuk is, at the end of the day, a busy university student, so as they wait for Hyungwon’s personal trainer, Hyunwoo, to appear, he studies. He’s majoring in education, wanting to be a teacher, and Hyungwon leans his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder as the older man flips through the virtual pages of his textbook on his iPad screen.

“Hyungwon?”

They both look up; Hyunwoo approaches from the left door with a gentle smile. “I’m ready for you.”

“Do you want to come with me?” Hyungwon asks Minhyuk, standing up.

“No,” Minhyuk says, waving him off. “But we can get coffee after. I’ll wait here.”

Hyungwon nods, and follows Hyunwoo into the room.

“Congratulations on the gold medals,” Hyunwoo says as Hyungwon slips out of his sweater and lays down on his stomach on the padded table. 

“Thank you.”

“How’s your back been?”

“Better. The twinginess is still annoying, though.”

“Still in the same spot?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still feel it the most when you land your jumps?”

“Yeah, mostly. Jiyong has been having me do layback and biellmann spins recently, though, so that’s also probably part of it.”

“Have you been stretching before performing those spins?”

Hyungwon opens his mouth to answer, but the reply is stolen from his tongue and he winces sharply when Hyunwoo digs his elbow into the spot of pain in his lower back. This is always the worst part. Hyunwoo is wonderful at what he does, so Hyungwon usually feels great after every appointment, but the pain in the moment is something Hyungwon will never get used to.

The appointment doesn’t last longer than about forty-five minutes, mainly because Hyunwoo doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary. He massages Hyungwon’s back; uses the scraping tool on Hyungwon’s calves; has Hyungwon use the foam roller on his thighs. As he predicted, Hyungwon feels much better after the appointment, and once he meets Minhyuk in the lobby again, he pays for the appointment and leaves.

“I’m gonna take you to a new coffee shop,” Minhyuk says as they head for Minhyuk’s car. “Remember Jooheon? The music production major I was telling you about?”

Hyungwon pauses, thinking, as he gets into the passenger seat. “Yeah, I think so. The one you said smells like baby powder?”

Minhyuk grins. “That’s him. He works at the coffee shop I’m taking you to. It’s about time you finally met.”

Hyungwon shugs, pulling on his seatbelt. “I’m down. Time to see if he really smells like baby powder.”

“I’m telling you, he does! He makes this cologne himself—he smells like a newborn.”

“That’s… weird.”

“He’s really sweet,” Minhyuk pouts, putting the keys in the ignition. “I think you’ll like him.”

Hyungwon believes him. Minhyuk knows him better than anyone.

* * *

As it turns out, this Jooheon character is on his break when Minhyuk and Hyungwon walk into the coffee shop, a modern little building tucked out of the way of the busy streets of Seoul, but the first thing he does is offer to make them both coffee on the house. 

“I know Minhyuk likes lattes, so what can I get you?” Jooheon asks, springing to his feet to hurry behind the counter. “We’ve got plenty of Christmas-themed specialties, now that it’s December.”

“Surprise me,” Hyungwon says with a smile. “Anything fat-free is good.”

“Fat-free peppermint mocha, coming up,” Jooheon says with a big smile. He has wonderful, deep dimples. And Minhyuk is right—he smells like baby powder.

After making their drinks, Jooheon sits down with them at a table towards the back. His coworker, a veterinary major at the same university named Yoohyeon, agreed to cover his break time so they could chat for a little bit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jooheon says cheerfully. “Minhyuk would only talk about you while you were competing. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. How did you meet Minhyuk?” Hyungwon asks. He takes a sip from his coffee. It’s delightfully warm and pepperminty. 

“We have a psychology class together,” Jooheon explains. “I was late one day and he let me borrow one of his pens.”

“He’s been attached to my hip ever since,” Minhyuk complains jokingly. He laughs loudly when Jooheon feigns swinging a fist at him.

Hyungwon smiles into his coffee. They seem like they’re pretty good friends already. Hyungwon is glad, really; he travels a lot now that he’s competing internationally and he’s relieved that Minhyuk has people to hang out with when he’s gone. That hadn’t been the case when they were in high school.

“Also, we know each other because our mutual friend keeps hosting study groups and dragging us along.” Minhyuk adds. “He’s also taking psychology, but at a different time of the day.”

“He told me he invited Changkyun for this weekend’s study session, since he’s finally back,” Jooheon mentions casually.

Hyungwon almost chokes on his coffee.

“Wait, did you say Changkyun?” He splutters, trying not to cough all over Jooheon. “As in, Lim Changkyun?”

Jooheon looks at him in surprise. “Yeah. I thought you knew him.”

“I do. I mean, not well, but I know of him,” Hyungwon mumbles. “I didn’t know he’s based in Seoul.”

“He moved up here a few years ago. He was born in Gwangju, but his family lives in the States. He came here to train,” Jooheon explains. “But he’s also a student at our university.”

Hyungwon narrows his eyes. This is news to him. “What does he study?”

“Um, it’s either athletic science or fitness and nutrition. I can’t remember,” Jooheon says. “I don’t know him super well. We don’t really see him around. Training and stuff. He’s really close to Kihyun, though. They’ve been friends for years.”

Kihyun? Hyungwon recognizes that name; that’s another student Minhyuk has talked about. Probably the study group person he mentioned earlier.

Hyungwon shoots a look at Minhyuk. “Did you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Minhyuk doesn’t look fazed by Hyungwon’s snappy tone. “I thought you knew. People are saying he’s gonna be your biggest competition. I kind of expected you to look into him. He’s got a Wikipedia page; all it would have taken was a quick Naver search.”

Hyungwon pouts into his coffee. He’s suddenly very unsettled by the idea of Changkyun training so close to him. Across the table, Jooheon laughs awkwardly, and Minhyuk, the God of Reading The Air that he is, smoothly changes the subject by asking how Jooheon is faring with the research paper they’ve been assigned for their psychology course. This sends Jooheon into a loud rant about their professor, a rant that Minhyuk quickly joins in on, but Hyungwon can’t even find it in him to brag about the fact that he’s not in college.

It seems he’ll have to pay more attention to Lim Changkyun than he thought he would.

* * *

A month later, a little over a week after Christmas, is the Korean National Championships. Hyungwon’s short program goes perfectly, but then he takes an uncharacteristic fall on his triple lutz about halfway into his free skate. 

During the medal ceremony, Changkyun stands half a foot above him on the first place podium. The silver medallion around Hyungwon’s neck is an unpleasant kind of heavy.

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Grand Prix Final — Tokyo, Japan. December 2015._ **

Tokyo is a lovely city, Hyungwon decides. It reminds him very much of Seoul, but it’s still different in a way that Hyungwon can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it’s because when he thinks of Seoul, he thinks of being younger, he thinks of Minhyuk—he thinks of home. Seoul is home. When he thinks of Tokyo, he thinks of skating. Tokyo is a competition.

And he’s here to win.

Just like last season, he already has two gold medals under his belt for this Grand Prix series. The first, he’d achieved in Paris, in Grand Prix France, and the second is from Rostelecom again. Prior to landing in Tokyo for the Grand Prix Final, he had been stubbornly and deftly avoiding knowing the results of the other four competitions within the series. But, as fate played her cruel game, within five minutes of disembarking the plane at the Tokyo airport, he’d come face to face with a giant electronic sign listing the main competitors in the final. He’d seen his own name, of course, next to a pixelated cut-out of his face, but directly under him, as he’d correctly guessed, was Changkyun.

He should have expected this, really. Jiyong often compares Japan’s love of figure skating to America’s love of football. 

A quick Naver search once at his hotel room—Minhyuk would be so proud—tells him that Changkyun had competed in America and Canada, the first two locations in the Grand Prix series, and had taken gold in both competitions.

And against his better judgement and knowledge, Hyungwon watches Changkyun’s short program and free skate when he finds they’ve been uploaded onto YouTube. This is how he finds out that Changkyun’s total score is about seven points higher than his own by base value alone. In addition to his totally flawless quadruple salchow, biellmann spin, quadruple toe loop, and triple lutz-triple toe loop, Changkyun has added a fourth rotation onto his flip, and his score has skyrocketed. 

So, Jiyong is rather unpleasantly surprised when Hyungwon bursts into his room five minutes later, asking if he can add another quadruple jump to his routine.

After recovering from the initial shock, Jiyong actually laughs out loud. “You’re kidding, right?”

Hyungwon stares at him. The smile falls from his mouth.

“You’re serious,” Jiyong sighs, sitting down on his bed. “Do you mean, like, right now? Like, replace one of your triples with a quadruple jump, right now?”

“I’m not opposed.” Hyungwon says.

Jiyong scoffs. “Okay, well, _I_ am. We haven’t practiced many quads other than your salchow and toe loop, which are already in your program.”

“Right,” Hyungwon says, “and they have the lowest base value of all the quads.”

“What’s your point?”

“I want a quad loop.”

It’s Jiyong’s turn to stare. There’s a brief pause.

“A loop.” He says eventually. He sounds like he can’t believe what he’s saying.

Hyungwon nods, confident. “My loops are great.”

“A quad flip has a higher GOE than a quad loop.”

“Yeah, but only by point-five. I want a loop,” Hyungwon says.

Jiyong sighs again. “Okay. When we get home we can work on them with the harness.”

Hyungwon nods, satisfied. At least he managed to avoid telling Jiyong _why_ he wants a quadruple loop. That’s a conversation he knows won’t end well with the coach.

* * *

The next day is the competition itself, and based on what he’s seen so far, he can tell it’s going to be him and Changkyun alone in the race to the gold medal. He tries again to persuade Jiyong to let him change his triple loop into a quadruple, but Jiyong firmly shuts down the idea and Hyungwon gets an earful of why it’s a dangerous idea. 

So he stretches, alone, with his earbuds in, in the warm up room as the short program begins. He and Changkyun are both skating in the second group and it will likely remain that way for the free skate, as well, so he takes extra care to stretch more thoroughly than usual. His costume is a little itchy and prickly under his Team Korea jacket, but he ignores it.

Time flies, and suddenly it’s the second group’s warmup. Hyungwon is the last to step onto the ice, and as he hands Jiyong his blade guards, the coach gives him a stern look.

“Triple loop,” he says. “If you try to quadruple it, you’ll be in for a world of hurt once we get back home.”

Hyungwon sighs in defeat, but takes the threat seriously. Jiyong would never do anything to jeopardize Hyungwon’s chances while at competition, but there’s no telling what kind of horrible conditioning he’ll make Hyungwon do once they’re back within the safe walls of his base rink.

He can tell Jiyong’s gaze is particularly scrutinizing this time as he goes for the loop, and he lands it easily. When he glances back at the coach, nodding appreciatively to the storm of applause, he can see Jiyong nodding in contemplation. Hyungwon smirks. Victory.

He doesn’t bother watching the other performances once the six-minute warmup is over, and as he stretches at the ballet barres in the warm up room, he focuses on the extension of his legs and arms and fluidity in his movements as he waits for his turn. It comes quickly, and the familiar sound of applause is what greets him when he steps onto the ice again. He turns to Jiyong, waiting on the other side of the rink barrier, and hands him his jacket.

“Check your axis,” Jiyong is saying. He nods sharply. “One element at a time.”

“One element at a time,” Hyungwon repeats.

“Deep breath.”

Hyungwon does so. He shakes out his arms on the exhale. 

“The last in the short program, representing South Korea, Chae Hyungwon!”

To his utter horror, even after a flawless performance, his short program score puts him not in first, but in second place. His score, 95.88, is less than half a point behind Lim Changkyun’s score of 96.12. He can’t even bring himself to smile as the scores slide onto the screen; his insides feel like they’re made of the very ice he’d just skated on. When Jiyong elbows him, he waves at the camera, and he receives a disapproving look from Jiyong, but in that moment, it’s all he can do. A smile is too much to ask.

He ignores Jiyong as they clear the ice in preparation for the free skate and, knowing he’s got well over an hour before he needs to get back into a competitive mindset, he lets himself shake it off, knowing he’ll take first with the free skate.

There is no other option. For him, it’s gold or nothing.

He often surprises himself with this thought. It wasn’t always like this. When he was a kid, he looked forward to competitions mainly because he liked being on the ice with everyone’s eyes on him. At the age of eight, he’d won his first tournament, and the plastic trophy, however old and dusty it might be, is still sitting on his parents’ dresser back in their home in Gwangju. 

Maybe that was when it changed. Maybe that’s when gold became his favorite color.

“Okay, Hyungwon,” Jiyong calls an hour later. “Are you ready?”

Hyungwon rolls his shoulders back and grins at the satisfying pops that follow. He glances at the coach, runs a gloved hand through his blonde hair, and nods.

He’s not used to going second to last in the free skate, and knowing that someone is going after him puts a sour feeling in his stomach. Jiyong’s words, however familiar they may be, continue to ring in his mind. These words have become a sort of mantra to Hyungwon; they calm him. 

“One element at a time” puts him in a methodical, step-by-step mindset. After all, it’s the math equation that solves the problem. It’s the technique that makes the jump.

He hasn’t felt like he’s got something to prove in a long time, so he really lets himself fly with this performance. He wants to show the world—he wants to show _Changkyun_ —he won’t let the gold out of his grasp so easily.

And the program is impeccable. There’s tears in his eyes—not that he’d admit it—when he takes his final bow, and as he glides towards Jiyong, there is an incredibly satisfying expression of wonder on his coach’s face. Jiyong grins as Hyungwon pulls his blade guards on, and instead of his usual shoulder clap, he pulls Hyungwon into a deft hug.

“That’s how you skate to win,” Jiyong praises. Hyungwon dips his head; the words are music to his ears.

He’d performed a season’s best of 199.36. This score, coupled with the 95.88 he’d earned in the short program, sends him flying into first place with 295.24. He’s a full fifteen points above the skater in second, a man from Spain whose name Hyungwon doesn’t remember.

Only six minutes later, he comes down from the blissful high he’d been riding. Changkyun’s free skate score comes in: 200.12. He’s in first with 296.24.

One full point ahead of Hyungwon. 

Jiyong whistles. “I’ve never seen scores so close before.”

Hyungwon grits his teeth.

During the medal ceremony, they’re asked, just as they had been last year, to stand together and hold the Korean flag, only this time their positions are swapped: Hyungwon is standing on the second place podium and Changkyun is all smiles on the first place podium. The gold medal around his neck goes well with his glittering costume of sapphire and dark purple. 

“Congratulations on your silver,” Changkyun says joyfully.

Hyungwon shoots him a look. He tries not to look too affronted, mindful of the cameras.

“Rubbing it in isn’t very good sportsmanship,” he bites back under his breath.

Changkyun’s smile doesn’t fall, and his gaze remains cast on the audience and the dazzling white camera flashes. “I’m not rubbing it in. I’m genuinely congratulating you on a race well run.”

Hyungwon isn’t convinced.

“You should lighten up,” Changkyun continues. “A silver medal is still a medal. Winning isn’t the only thing these competitions are good for, you know.”

Hyungwon tries not to curl his lip. It sounds a little too close to something Jiyong or Minhyuk would say, and he's far too bitter to take it into consideration at this moment.

“You should learn to take these more seriously,” Hyungwon advises coldly. “Only once you can walk the walk are you allowed to talk the talk.”

There’s a pause as Changkyun takes in what Hyungwon had said.

“Well, with your attitude, I can’t say you’re much of a good sport, either.” Changkyun murmurs.

The comment strikes something in Hyungwon’s chest, but he doesn’t rise to the bait; he doesn’t justify it with a response. He remains silent until they’re allowed off the podiums, and the conversation—if it can even be called that—ends there.

And of course, they’re immediately bombarded by sports journalists, reporters, and tabloid writers looking for gossip. Changkyun is dragged away by his coach to another corner of the rink for his press conference, and Hyungwon is cornered with his back to the wall as a group of wide-eyed, story-hungry pressmen flock towards him, much like a wake of vultures falls upon a delicious bit of roadkill.

“Mr. Chae! Mr. Chae,” someone shouts over the clamor, and he looks around to find the same reporter woman who had first brought Changkyun to his attention, the year before. “Can you give us a few words on your rivalry with Lim Changkyun?”

 _Rivalry? Is that what this is?_ Hyungwon thinks. But the more he ponders, the more he agrees. 

“What would you like me to say?” Hyungwon asks with a forced chuckle. 

Across the room, Jiyong gives him a look that clearly says, “watch your step.” Hyungwon lets his eyes linger on the coach only for a moment to let him know the message has been received.

“Making the 2018 Olympics team is your biggest goal, is it not?” The reporter asks eagerly. “Don’t you see Lim Changkyun as a threat to your spot?”

“Not particularly.” Hyungwon says coolly.

“Really? When asked, he’d told us he’s looking forward to making the team _with_ you.”

Hyungwon bites back a surprised laugh. _Is that so?_

“I hope he’ll be happy with the silver, if that’s the case,” Hyungwon says cheekily.

The crowd titters in surprise, and he wonders briefly if he’d said the wrong thing, but the reporters and interviewers seem to be eating it up. 

“So what can we expect from this rivalry, then?” Another reporter yells over the racket. “A race to the Olympics?”

Hyungwon lets a smirk curl into his lips. 

* * *

After the Grand Prix final, Hyungwon had had exactly one month of training-slash-free time before Korean Nationals, which had gone surprisingly well. He’d beat Changkyun by a narrow margin of three and a half points after Changkyun popped his quadruple flip into a triple in his free skate, but this wasn’t the only thing the media was eating up: a pair of skaters who train under Changkyun’s coach had also made their senior national debut. It seems Heechul is a better coach than Hyungwon has given him credit for. Eighteen year old Boo Seungkwan, a tiny but powerful athlete from Jeju with a head of fluffy dark brown curls, had taken bronze. He’d been exactly thirteen points behind Changkyun. The other boy, seventeen year old Choi Jongho, had narrowly missed the podium; he had been less than two points behind Seungkwan.

Hyungwon is excited, to be honest. He’s been competing against international competitors for a while, and until recently, there hasn’t been much serious competition in Korea. He looks forward to crushing the new kids both at home and across the globe.

“Don’t get cocky,” Jiyong had warned. “Heechul knows what he’s doing. His athletes are going to take after him. Hell, they already do. Keep your chin up, but keep your ego in check.”

The words were harsh, but not uncharacteristic, and Hyungwon had dismissed them with a shrug. Call him arrogant, but he’s not afraid of the little kids Heechul is bringing onto the scene. 

* * *

**_ISU Four Continents Championship — Colorado Springs, USA. February 2016._ **

February brings the Four Continents Championship, which is a global competition that includes every continent except for Europe and Russia. (Europe and Russia have their own competition—creatively entitled the European Championships.)

Hyungwon enjoys Four Continents if for no other reason than it brings another chance to travel. The 2016 4CCs will be held in Colorado Springs, United States, and it’s the second time in Hyungwon’s career he’s ever had to go to America. He travels first and foremost to compete, but Jiyong is usually much more lenient with his pre-competition training than during the off season, so Hyungwon gets lots of extra time to sightsee and find souvenirs to bring back for Minhyuk and his parents.

This time, he’s found that the biggest threats he’ll be facing will be the skaters from his own home. Lim Changkyun, Boo Seungkwan and Choi Jongho had all qualified for the championships, and Hyungwon knows they’ll pack more of a punch combined than any other athlete he’ll go against.

Because it’s their first ever 4CC, Seungkwan and Jongho—who has dyed his hair a flaming red for the occasion—will be in the first group for the short program, and Hyungwon and Changkyun will be in the second group. And because of these arrangements, Changkyun and Hyungwon wind up in the same warm up room together.

Changkyun doesn’t interact with him other than to give him a bright smile, which Hyungwon returns with a tight grimace, and he parks himself down in front of the television on the wall, which is displaying the short program as it happens. Heechul is out in the rink area with Jonho and Seungkwan, so Changkyun is alone in the small studio with Jiyong and Hyungwon.

As he stretches, Hyungwon watches Changkyun, and watches the competition. Changkyun pays little attention to the other skaters. He only looks up when the announcer calls Seungkwan’s name. Even from inside the studio, Hyungwon can hear and feel the applause that erupts from the crowd when Seungkwan lands his quadruple toe loop, and, settled easily into his right split, Changkyun claps quietly to himself. He cheers for Jongho, too.

Hyungwon is blown away. How can the kid cheer for them? They may be his rinkmates, but at the end of the day they’re still his competition. 

Hyungwon glances at Jiyong. The coach’s nose is stuck firmly in a book, oblivious to everything around him. 

“Yah,” Hyungwon calls, getting Changkyun’s attention.

The dark-haired kid turns and glances over his shoulder. Hyungwon, out of the corner of his eye, sees Jiyong peek over the pages of his book.

“Why are you cheering for them?” Hyungwon asks, eyebrows furrowed. “They’re your competition, aren’t they?”

Changkyun shrugs and looks back at the screen. “Sure, but they’re still my friends. Only on the ice are they my competitors. Off ice, they’re like my brothers.”

“How long have you been training with them?” Hyungwon asks before he can stop himself.

“Years,” Changkyun says easily. “I’ve known Seungkwan since I moved here.”

Hyungwon vaguely recalls Jooheon mentioning that Changkyun lives alone in Seoul, and that his parents live in the States. He wonders if they’re here tonight, watching him. 

“You must know everything about how he trains and competes, then.” Hyungwon states matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you use that to your advantage?”

Changkyun looks at him over his shoulder as he slides slowly into his left split. “Well, first of all, that wouldn’t be fair, seeing as he doesn’t do that to me. Second of all, winning isn’t the most important thing in the world. I’d take home a ninth place ribbon knowing I did my absolute best, rather than take home a gold medal knowing I cheated to get it.”

Speechless. Hyungwon stares at him. 

“Are you implying I’m a cheater?” Hyungwon blurts.

Changkyun shakes his head. “No. I’m just saying winning isn’t the main reason I compete.”

“Then what is?”

Changkyun stands up, and looks solidly at Hyungwon as he does so. “Because I love it.”

* * *

The competition is just like Nationals all over again. Now that the Spanish skater, who Hyungwon finally learned is named Marcos Saldaña, is out of the picture, the biggest threats to his gold medal are Changkyun, Seungkwan, and Jongho.

In the short program, he pops his quadruple toe loop into a triple, and even though he lands his triple axel and quadruple salchow-triple toe loop, it’s not enough to get him into first, and he’s third after the short.

The free skate is admittedly worse. He pops his salchow and falls on his lutz-loop combination, and he’s seething by the time he gets his score.

At the end of it, Hyungwon takes bronze. On the second place podium stands a Japanese skater who had come out of nowhere, and in first place is Changkyun. Hyungwon internally feels as though he’s dying, but he smiles for the cameras, and he shakes hands with the Japanese man and Changkyun and holds the Korean flag with him.

He also learns that all of Heechul’s athletes, not just Changkyun, are like rays of sunshine. They all congratulate him on making the podium—even Seungkwan and Jongho, who had placed fourth and fifth! To say Hyungwon is astounded is an understatement.

To make things worse, Changkyun’s good sportsmanship and personality has earned him a new nickname among skating fans. They call him “Korea’s Sunshine,” and even though the nickname makes Hyungwon want to throw up, he has to admit it does fit the younger athlete. As much as Hyungwon dislikes the fact that Changkyun keeps beating him, it’s hard to keep a straight face around him. In the press conference after the competition, Changkyun makes a joke that has the entire crowd of reporters rolling with laughter, and Hyungwon himself has to bite his tongue to keep from giggling with them.

“Do you have any words to say about your rivalry with the Ice Prince?” one of the reporters demands.

Changkyun pauses, and Hyungwon wonders what he’s going to say. He thinks it’s fairly obvious that the reporter, by using the term ‘Ice Prince,’ is referring to him. 

He meets Changkyun’s eyes. Hyungwon can’t detect any kind of contempt or disdain or even any conceit in the younger skater’s dark chocolate irises. 

“I hope it’ll continue for years to come,” Changkyun eventually says. “And I look forward to competing against him at the Olympics.”

 _You do, do you?_ Hyungwon thinks, amused. _How curious._

* * *

Hyungwon sighs as he limps into the locker room, dusting ice off his hip. He’s frustrated and tired; Jiyong has extended his practice until he lands a quadruple loop. He’d just taken a particularly hard fall on said jump, and Jiyong had sent him to get his hip pads. It’s been a while since Hyungwon has had to wear the pads, and he’s not looking forward to having to wear it again. It’s a strangely-shaped, lumbering sort of thing: it goes on over his pants, kind of like a diaper, and as he pulls it down from the top of his locker, he stares at it in contempt. 

He doesn’t hear the locker room door open.

“What are you doing here so late?”

Startled, Hyungwon turns around; to his surprise, Minhyuk is standing in the doorway to the locker room. He’s bundled in a padded coat, scarf, and gloves, and he’s not smiling. 

“I could ask you the same question.” Hyungwon says. He hasn’t seen Minhyuk since he left for Colorado last week.

“We were supposed to get dinner tonight,” Minhyuk says coolly, crossing his arms. “But clearly, you have better things to do.”

And Hyungwon remembers with a sudden sinking feeling that he _had_ agreed to get dinner with Minhyuk the night after he returned from Colorado. They’d made that agreement weeks ago. He’d only just returned last night. Jiyong had given him the morning off, but of course that meant extended night practice. Between the hustle and bustle of trying to get home and the terrible heaviness the bronze medal weighed in his suitcase, It had completely slipped Hyungwon’s mind.

“Aish, Minhyuk, I’m sorry.” he says, and he really is sorry. But he’s also frustrated and tired and he feels like someone is squeezing his heart. “I forgot.”

Minhyuk shrugs and comes further into the room. “It’s okay.”

They both know it’s not okay. It hasn’t been okay since Changkyun beat him in Tokyo last December. There’s a brief pause. Hyungwon prepares himself for whatever Minhyuk is about to say—he knows Minhyuk knows what’s wrong. 

“Why are you so upset? You made the podium.” Minhyuk points out.

“Yeah, but I lost to _him_.”

“Oh, come on,” Minhyuk rolls his eyes. “You didn’t lose. You have a medal. You know fully well he matches you in terms of technical skill and artistry—a challenge like that should excite you, not make you angry. What is it about him that’s pissing you off? That he’s younger than you?”

“I wish he’d take this more seriously,” Hyungwon snaps. “He doesn’t care about winning, and yet he does.”

“That can’t possibly be true. He’s got to care. Why would he go through everything he goes through if he didn’t care?”

“You’ve never had to deal with him the way I have,” Hyungwon shoots back sullenly, sitting down on the bench underneath his locker. “You only know him in a school setting. He’s a fool. He told me he’d—you should have been there. He doesn’t understand that winning is the most important.”

“First of all, that’s bullshit, and you know it. Second of all, when did it stop being about skating and start being about winning, Hyungwon?” Minhyuk demands loudly, narrowing his eyes.

Hyungwon shuts his mouth. The uncharacteristic frustration in Minhyuk’s tone gets his full attention. Minhyuk is looking at him with a dark stare, the kind of stare that makes Hyungwon want to fidget.

“I’ve known you since we were kids, Hyungwon. Your bullshit can’t get past me,” Minhyuk says sternly. “When we were younger, all you wanted to do was skate. It was always the way skating made you feel. Like you were flying, is what you always said. When you were on the ice, you were flying. You did it because it made you feel above the world. It made you feel _good_. But now you only care about winning. Being first. Taking gold. Where did you go? Why did your attitude change?”

Hyungwon looks at the floor. He and Minhyuk don’t argue often at all, but when Minhyuk gets going, there’s no telling when or where he’ll stop. Hyungwon couldn’t make words come to his mouth if he tried.

“Changkyun might not care about winning as much as you do, Hyungwon, but—at least he knows how to have fun. At least he knows how to _lose_ and be a _good sport_ about it, because _you_ don’t.” Minhyuk spits. “Not anymore, at least.”

Minhyuk sounds truly angry. Hyungwon stares at a nick in the blade of his left skate. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Hyungwon mumbles. It doesn’t mean anything—it’s completely irrelevant, even—but it’s the best he can do in the moment. It’s all he can bring himself to say.

Minhyuk heaves a long, heavy sigh. “Maybe I don’t. But I know _you_. I know you love skating. But—you seem to have forgotten _why_. You’ve gotten so obsessed with being the best that you’ve lost sight of why you really enjoy skating at all. You started competing because you loved it, not because you wanted to win. Winning didn’t matter to you when we were kids. Now, you compete because you want everyone else to bow to you. And I’m sorry, Hyungwon, but that’s just—no one wants to be like that. No one wants to be _friends_ with someone who is like that.”

Hyungwon swallows. There’s a brief pause. He’s reminded of what Changkyun had said to him in the warm up room only a few nights ago, and his chest tightens uncomfortably. Minhyuk is scrutinizing him. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red.

“Think about it for a second,” Minhyuk says, tone softening. “Why do you spend so much money? Why do you wake up at four in the morning every day? I’ve witnessed you cry because of pain and frustration. I’ve watched you _literally_ tape yourself back together—why would you put yourself through that? When we were kids, the answer would have been that you love it. You _love_ skating. But now the answer has changed. Why did it change?”

Hyungwon doesn’t reply, even though he knows the answer.

“You got used to being the one to beat,” Minhyuk answers for him. “And you let it get to your head.”

His tone is laced with finality. Hyungwon doesn’t know what hurts more: the fact that Minhyuk is saying this to him, or the fact that he’s entirely right.

“So what do you want me to do?” Hyungwon bites, swallowing a lump in his throat. “How do you want me to change?”

“Enjoy yourself next time you’re out there. I know it’s hard to do that sometimes, being an international athlete and all, but when it gets hard, just… try to remember why you love it. Remember being a kid, and being so excited to get up and go downtown to skate for a few hours. I know that under the sparkly costumes and the makeup and the stupid cold front you put up around everyone else, you’re just a boy who fell in love with the ice. I _know_ that’s who you are. But the world doesn’t. You have to show them. You have to show them that you can recover from a loss. You have to show them that you’re gonna keep going, and you’re gonna keep going because for you, skating is like breathing.”

Hyungwon still can’t bring himself to say anything. If he opens his mouth, he might cry.

Minhyuk sits down next to him with a soft sigh and takes his hand. His gloved hands are warm and he tenderly laces his fingers through Hyungwon’s frigid hand. 

“You’re the only one putting the pressure on you to win, Hyungwon. Lots of those people who go to those competitions don’t go to watch you win. That’s just a bonus,” Minhyuk says gently. “They go to watch you turn the sport into art. They go to watch you enjoy yourself and hone your talent. And that’s the truth.”

“It’s so much bigger than that, though,” Hyungwon whispers. “That might have been true when I was younger, but it’s not anymore. Not at the international stage.”

“I get it,” Minhyuk nods sagely. “And it’s okay that winning is important to you. But at the end of the day, a gold medal shouldn’t be more important than… loving a sport with your whole heart. A gold medal shouldn’t mean more than the knowledge that you went out there and you put on a show; it shouldn’t mean more than knowing that you showed that arena that you love what you do. A gold medal should be a bonus.”

Hyungwon disagrees; when he competes, he competes to win. But—that’s exactly the problem Minhyuk is bringing to Hyungwon’s attention, he realizes. He knows there’s nothing wrong with being competitive, but he also knows that Minhyuk is right. He’s taken it too far. Ultimately, skating should be the most important. He shouldn’t be so easily angered and devastated in the face of failure. 

Maybe that’s something he should work on for the upcoming season.

“I don’t want to be like this,” Hyungwon mumbles. He leans his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder.

“I know. You’re just a little lost,” Minhyuk says sweetly. “But I know you’ll find your way back.”

* * *

**_ISU World Figure Skating Championships — Lausanne, Switzerland. March 2016._ **

The conversation with Minhyuk inspires Hyungwon to start paying more attention to the athletes around him when at competitions. Worlds came faster than he’d expected, and soon enough he found himself on a plane to Lausanne, Switzerland for the competition. He lands in Switzerland with a goal: to observe, and to learn. He wants to watch Changkyun. He wants to see how he does it.

What he’s not expecting, though, is that the tide is turned when he beats Changkyun by ten points. The short program had gone well, but Changkyun had taken a couple of hard falls on two jumps in his free skate. He still manages to medal, but the point margin between second and first place is nearly eleven points. 

Standing on the first place podium is nice, and the gold is a wonderful medallion to have, but he focuses on Changkyun. 

And Changkyun is smiling. Hyungwon is sure his hip must hurt like a bitch—he’d fallen right down on his left hip after underrotating his quad flip—and Marcos Saldaña is posing an even bigger threat, with a newly learned quad lutz in his arsenal. It’s not looking good for Changkyun, and yet, he’s grinning. He’s holding his silver medallion, and his smile is just as bright as the medal around his neck. For what feels like the nth competition in a row, they’re asked to stand together and hold the Korean flag, and Hyungwon doesn’t shy away from Changkyun as they’re ushered to stand near each other.

“Congratulations on your gold,” Changkyun says, as Hyungwon expected him to.

“Thank you. Congratulations on your silver,” Hyungwon says, surprising even himself.

Changkyun looks at him in shock. Hyungwon smiles genuinely at him. Changkyun pauses, as if waiting for a punchline that won’t come, but when he sees that Hyungwon is dead serious, he grins again, and it’s a smile that could outshine the heavy fluorescent lights above them.

“Thank you!” he says cheerily.

He decides to ask him for his phone number. After a few more visits to the coffee shop where Jooheon works, Hyungwon has come to the conclusion that Changkyun is part of the same friend circle Minhyuk is part of, and Hyungwon wants to get to know him more if for no other reason than he wants to know Minhyuk’s friends.

(But, he won’t admit to himself just yet, part of him wants to be friends with Changkyun.)

“Can I have your phone number?” he asks bravely.

Again, Changkyun looks at him in surprise. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sure, if you want...” he murmurs suspiciously. “Can I ask why?”

Hyungwon shrugs. “If you and I are going to the Olympics, I might as well know you.”

And Changkyun grins again, and Hyungwon can’t stop thinking about the way Changkyun’s fanged smile makes his head spin.

* * *

The end of the World Championships marks the beginning of the off-season. Or, what can be considered the off-season, at least. There aren’t many competitions during the spring and summer months, but the fall brings smaller competitions, such as the Nebelhorn Trophy, the Lombardia Trophy, the Asia Open, and the Autumn Classic. These fall competitions are part of what is known as the Challenger Season, a group of senior-level competitions that, in terms of rank, are below the Grand Prix series.

Hyungwon plans to attend all of these competitions, and to no one’s surprise, so does Changkyun.

His younger rinkmates, Seungkwan and Jongho, don’t participate, which Hyungwon finds a little relieving, but he’s not sure why. He has the whole summer to talk to Changkyun and learn about him, and yet, the only thing he can think about is how blessed he feels that the younger two skaters won’t be competing with them come autumn. 

He’s been so busy working with Jiyong on new programs and a quadruple loop that when, on a warm day towards the end of August, he gets a text from Changkyun asking to meet for coffee, he’s totally caught off guard.

They’ve been texting intermittently since Worlds, mainly to catch up on each other’s training, but never to really hang out. They’ve both been preoccupied with skating, and of course Changkyun is a student on top of all of his training—Hyungwon doesn’t know _how_ he manages that—and frankly, Hyungwon is relieved for the short break this little outing will give him.

After one of his physiotherapy sessions with Hyunwoo, he takes the metro to the address Changkyun had sent him, and it’s only as he’s approaching the building that he realizes it’s the coffee shop where he and Minhyuk had met Jooheon a year and some months ago. Hyungwon remembers that Jooheon knows Changkyun—they’re probably friends, now that Hyungwon thinks about it—and as he pulls the door open to the shop, he braces himself.

Sitting alone by the window towards the far wall is Changkyun, and he’s cradling a cup of what looks like iced coffee. His eyes are far away; he’s somewhere else, and he doesn’t come back to the present until Hyungwon is pulling the chair out across from him.

“Oh! Hi,” he says, fixing Hyungwon with his big eyes and pointy smile. “Sorry, I got lost in thought. It’s good to see you.”

Hyungwon fumbles for a response. 

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he ultimately settles on, and as he sits down, he realizes the words are truthful. He’s not about to admit to himself that he’s missed Changkyun, but… he definitely didn’t _not_ miss him. 

Yeah. Something like that.

Hyungwon looks at the coffee in Changkyun’s hands, and smirks. “What kind of psycho drinks iced coffee?”

Changkyun giggles— _oh, Lord, help him now_ —and looks Hyungwon directly in the eyes as he sips from the iced beverage. “This psycho does.”

Hyungwon smirks, trying not to blush, and across the cafe, he sees Jooheon come out of the back room, tying an apron around his body. Jooheon’s eyes light up when they make eye contact, and he bustles his way over, an expression of surprise splashed across his features.

“Hey!” he calls excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be coming. Changkyun told me he was meeting someone, but I didn’t expect it to be you!”

Hyungwon laughs, because he’s not sure what else to do, and Jooheon takes his order. Jooheon walks away from the table with a knowing look at Changkyun, which leaves Changkyun flustered and Hyungwon confused.

“You’re friends with Minhyuk, right?” Changkyun asks suddenly.

Hyungwon tries not to scoff. “He’s been my best friend since we were seven years old.”

Changkyun smiles. “He talks very highly of you, you know. Had me intimidated before I even met you.”

Hyungwon’s eyebrows fly past his bangs. “I didn’t know you were close to him.”

“My best friend, Kihyun, is Minhyuk’s roommate.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of Kihyun.”

“I’m sure you have,” Changkyun says with a little laugh. “Minhyuk, Jooheon and Kihyun all have the same professor for psychology, just on different days. Sometimes Kihyun makes me sit in on their study sessions when I’m not in class or at the rink. That’s how I met Joo and Minhyuk, and Hoseok, too.”

Hoseok is a name Hyungwon hasn’t heard before. He’s starting to wonder if he’s the only one Minhyuk’s friends haven’t met.

“He’s a music production major, like Jooheon,” Changkyun explains, “but I also have him in a couple of my nutrition classes. His minor is nutrition and fitness, which is my major.”

“Is he an athlete like us?” 

“Um, not exactly. He’s a bodybuilder. So, an athlete, I guess, but not like us. Seriously, though, he’s built like a truck, and I’m a twig.”

“You’re not a twig,” Hyungwon laughs. “You’re the perfect height and weight for a figure skater.”

Changkyun nods, then grins cheekily. “ _You’re_ a twig, though.”

“True that.” Hyungwon laughs again. His heart feels light. “Tell me more about your friends.”

“Hoseok works part time at the physiotherapy clinic across the city,” Changkyun says.

“Oh, he might know my therapist,” Hyungwon says. “His name is Hyunwoo.”

“Yeah, actually! I think he has talked about a mysterious Hyunwoo,” Changkyun says thoughtfully. “He graduated last year, I think. Sometimes Hoseok likes to work out with him, but I haven’t met him yet.”

This friend circle is more connected than Hyungwon thought. 

“Hyunwoo certainly is a gym rat,” Hyungwon mumbles into his coffee. “He’s built like a brick wall.”

Changkyun laughs brightly. 

“Tell me more,” Hyungwon says. 

“There’s not a lot more to tell,” Changkyun says. “Kihyun is a culinary arts major. He can cook like a god. He—”

“Tell me about you,” Hyungwon interrupts. He’s genuinely interested. (Or maybe he just likes listening to Changkyun’s voice.)

Changkyun’s cheeks darken a little. _Cute._

“What do you want to know?” Changkyun asks. “I’m not super interesting..”

“Birthday,” Hyungwon suggests. “Where you grew up. How you ended up in the States.”

“Well, my dad is a scientist,” Changkyun begins. “I was born in Gwangju. I was about six, I think, when we moved to America for his work. I moved back here by myself when Heechul recruited me to skate for Korea.”

“Recruited you, huh?” Hyungwon repeats, a little impressed.

Changkyun nods, blushing. “I wasn’t quite sixteen when I moved back.”

“And your parents are still in America?”

“With my brother, yeah.”

“Did they see you compete in Colorado?”

“They did!” Changkyun says, brightening considerably. “It was the first senior competition they’ve gotten to see in person. They don’t like traveling much to see me, so they mainly watch on television.”

Hyungwon nods and hums, because his parents are the same way.

“So, how is training coming?” Changkyun asks, leaning towards Hyungwon with his elbows on the table. “Any new jumps?”

“A quad loop,” Hyungwon says casually.

Changkyun gives him an impressed look.

“You know. Another quad to beat you with,” Hyungwon adds, feeling his heart start beating faster.

Changkyun giggles again. It’s melodic, Hyungwon thinks to himself. 

“I’ll see you in Barrie, right?” Hyungwon asks.

“For the Autumn Classic?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely. I’ll be in Oberstdorf for Nebelhorn, too. You can bet on it.”

Hyungwon smiles. He’d known, of course, that he and Changkyun would be competing against each other during the challenger series, but he’d wanted to hear Changkyun say it. All of these competitions will be the perfect preparation for Nationals in January of next year, which will decide who will represent Korea in the World Championships. Worlds, in turn, will decide who will represent Korea in the Olympics.

The upcoming season is going to be serious. Hyungwon already knows what he should expect; Jiyong has been grilling him a lot as of recently. The 2017 season will determine who will be going to the Olympics in 2018, and Hyungwon knows he has to pull out all the stops if he wants to be considered for Korea’s Olympic figure skating team.

He knows that Changkyun also knows that. Changkyun wants to go to the Olympics just as badly as Hyungwon does. He can see it in the way Changkyun competes; he claims he competes for fun, he competes because he loves it—but there’s genuine passion for victory there as well, and that’s what Hyungwon likes to see.

After Jooheon brings his coffee, Hyungwon asks Changkyun about what he’d meant during their conversation in Colorado a few months ago. 

Taking another sip from his coffee, Changkyun shrugs. “Sport is sport. Life is life. I’ll agree with you—on the ice, there’s too much passion, too much emotion to even think about things like friendship. But the minute I step off the ice, they’re not my competitors—they’re my brothers. It’s okay for them to be both.”

And Hyungwon ponders this deeply after they part ways. The sun is setting as he heads towards the metro station, and his mind is whirling. He makes a note to himself to start talking to Changkyun even more. The kid’s not so bad. In fact, he’s found that he likes Changkyun’s company, main rival or not. 

He’s also come to realize that winning _is_ important to Changkyun—after all, who doesn’t like winning? But, Hyungwon thinks, maybe it’s okay to let yourself live. He hadn’t been totally friendless, growing up—he’s always had Minhyuk—but he does know that things like friends had been very much secondary to him in comparison to things such as skating. Maybe it’s time for a change.

Next month, they battle for gold at the Autumn Classic, and after an incredibly close race, Changkyun comes out victorious. Hyungwon, in turn, wins Nebelhorn and Lombardia, but in the Asia Open, exactly one week before the start of the Grand Prix series, Changkyun beats him by five points, and for once, the silver around Hyungwon’s neck isn’t heavy with the weight of loss. 

He gives Changkyun a hug, even, as they stand together on the podium. He’s proud of Changkyun. 

(He totally does not relish in the way the smaller man feels pressed against his body, wrapped in his arms. He definitely does not do that. Not at all.)

He’s always liked the way gold looks on him, but he has to admit, Changkyun rocks it, too.

* * *

**_South Korean Figure Skating Championships — Gangneun, South Korea. January 2017._ **

The first week of January brings Nationals, and while Hyungwon generally views Nationals as an easy win, this time it’s more than that. In exactly one year from now, the Olympics will be held, and Hyungwon has to use this season to prove to the Korean government and skating union that he’s someone they want on their figure skating team. The competition is going to be tough this time: not only is he competing against Changkyun, but also Jongho and Seungkwan, who have proven to be fierce competitors in their own right. 

This year Nationals are being hosted in Uijeongbu, which means Minhyuk won’t be able to come and watch. Hyungwon had been disappointed, but quickly remembered that the World Championships this year will be held in Seoul. Minhyuk had accompanied Hyungwon to the train station that will take him to Uijeongbu, and they’d parted under the promise that Minhyuk would purchase tickets to see him compete in Seoul in a few months' time.

Uijeongbu is only about forty-five minutes from Seoul via train, and he tries his best to sit still during the short ride, but he’s found that even trying to sleep is futile against the nervousness. The results of Nationals will be part of the selection criteria for the upcoming World Championships, which will determine who goes to the Olympics in the following year. His leg bounces the entire trip.

He meets Jiyong at the hotel where they’ll be staying, and after they get their room keys from the front desk, Hyungwon follows Jiyong towards the elevator.

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Heechul and his skaters are staying in this hotel, too,” Jiyong mentions offhandedly as the elevator doors slide shut. 

“All of them?”

“I think so. He’s got quite a few athletes competing this time.”

“Like who?”

“Well, Changkyun, obviously, and Jongho and Seungkwan. He’s also got a girl competing, too. Kim Yoohyeon.”

Hyungwon recognizes her name, but only very vaguely. 

“How old is she?”

“I don’t know. Younger than Changkyun, older than Jongho. She won Nationals last year.”

“Why haven’t I met her, then?” Hyungwon asks, mostly to himself. 

Jiyong gives him a sideways glance. They both know the answer to that question. 

Hyungwon makes it his goal to meet her, and to talk to Changkyun and his rinkmates more. At a domestic competition such as this, there’s no better place to make friends.

* * *

Jiyong is right. Heechul and his athletes are staying in the same hotel, and Hyungwon learns this after he runs into all four of them at the rink the next morning. The actual competition isn’t for another two days, meaning they’ve got some extra time to practice in the domed arena beforehand. He’d gone in extra early to see if he could get the ice to himself, at least for a little while, but Seungkwan, Changkyun, Jongho, and the girl who Hyungwon guesses is Yoohyeon are all already there.

Part of him wants to be disappointed, but most of him is actually rather glad to see them. He’d been hoping to run into them at some point before the competition.

“Hyungwon!”

It’s Changkyun. Hyungwon spots him all the way across the ice, waving frantically at him. Hyungwon grins as he pulls his blade guards off, and steps onto the ice. It’s been resurfaced recently, and it’s all shiny and smooth and white like the moon. It’s wonderful.

“Good to see you,” Hyungwon calls as he glides his way towards the group. “I was hoping I’d catch you here.”

All four of them smile at him in greeting. 

“I don’t think you’ve met Yoohyeon, have you?” Changkyun asks as Hyungwon skids to a stop. Hyungwon shakes his head, and the girl bows politely. Her hair is long and thick, dyed brown with blonde strips, and twisted into French braids that trail down her back. 

“Hi,” she says cheerily. “It’s nice to finally meet you. My girlfriend is a huge fan of yours.”

“I thought Minji-noona was a big fan of _me_ ,” Seungkwan whines, and Yoohyeon laughs.

“She loves all of you,” Yoohyeon giggles.

“Will she be watching you here?” Jongho asks curiously.

“No, actually. It’s finals week for her. But she’ll come to Worlds,” Yoohyeon says.

“Vernon will be at Worlds, too,” Seungkwan says in accordance. He looks at Jongho. “How about Wooyoung?”

“He’ll be here, and at Worlds,” Jongho says, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Aww,” Yoohyeon croons. “That’s so romantic.”

“Shut up,” Jongho pouts, and Yoohyeon laughs at his reddening face.

“I had no idea I’m the only single one here,” Hyungwon says with an awkward little laugh.

Changkyun sheepishly raises his hand. “I’m single, too. At least Kihyun will be coming to Worlds. Is Minhyuk gonna come?”

Hyungwon nods. He’s relieved, at least, that he’s not the only one without a romantic partner. 

Changkyun’s rinkmates are some of the coolest people Hyungwon has ever met. They’re all gay, it seems, and Hyungwon fits right in with them. After standing and talking for another five or so minutes, they do begin to warm up and practice, bouncing ideas and suggestions off each other like ping pong balls. Jongho tells Yoohyeon to do a triple axel, and Hyungwon is floored when she lands it—never mind the fact that a triple axel is rare in ladies’ skating, it’s a gorgeous jump, one that will definitely put her on the podium. They’re all so comfortable with each other, and Hyungwon feels at ease with them, too. 

Hyungwon lands his first ever quadruple loop without the harness in their presence. Changkyun had been recording with the camera on his phone, and all four of the other skaters burst into cheers and applause as Hyungwon landed. It left him feeling strangely emotional. These people barely know him, and he doesn’t have the best reputation, but here they are, acting like they’ve known him for years. 

He watches the video Changkyun took, but rather than watch the loop itself, he listens for the cheers and applause the moment his skate touches the ice. 

Hyungwon used to think that no one is like him, no one could understand him. He felt quite alone, actually, and in turn, let his ego grow. But he’s come to realize, mainly through Changkyun, that these people, these skaters, are just like him. They’ve all willingly tossed themselves through the grinder that is competitive figure skating, all because they want what he wants: Olympic gold. Just like him, they’ve dedicated their lives to this sport, and they’re going to go down fighting for what they want.

He’d grown up telling himself that there’s no one like himself, there’s no better company than his own conscience. It was this mindset that kept him away from other skaters. 

But maybe, he’s realized, just maybe, they’re not so different after all.

* * *

Fueled by the energy and encouragement of Heechul’s skaters, Hyungwon crushes it at Nationals. He breaks his own record and takes gold, and to his glee, Changkyun takes silver. Jongho and Seungkwan shock everyone by tying for third place, and Yoohyeon lands her fabulous triple axel and places first in the ladies’ division.

These results ensure their places in the South Korean team for the World Championship, but Hyungwon feels that the real victory of the night is being added to a group chat with the four of them and a few other, younger Korean skaters he’s never bothered to meet before. The night after the medal ceremony is spent lying awake in his bed in the hotel room until the wee hours of the morning, texting back and forth on this group chat. He kind of can’t believe he’s waited so long to become part of this.

The last day of the competition is the gala, which goes on without a hitch, and Hyungwon meets some of the other athletes in the group chat for the first time in person, and he likes them all well enough too. There’s Jungkook, a boy from Busan with a bunny-like smile, and Chaeyoung, another female skater who can land a triple axel. There’s also Jeongin, who has a mouth full of braces, and at the end of the exhibition skate they all stand as one under the Korean flag. 

* * *

**_ISU World Figure Skating Championships. Seoul, South Korea. March 2017._ **

Hyungwon takes a deep breath as he steps onto the ice, unzipping his jacket. Changkyun flashes him a smile as he skates by, and Hyungwon returns it, handing the jacket to Jiyong.

“Triple axel,” Jiyong instructs, as is customary. Hyungwon nods.

He surveys the other skaters on the ice with him as he does a few quick warm up laps. They’re all in the second group before the free skate. The short program had gone spectacularly; Changkyun is in first with a two point lead over Hyungwon, and Changkyun’s rinkmates, Jongho and Seungkwan, are in third and fourth respectively. Also in the top six is the Spanish man, Marcos Saldaña, and in sixth is a Russian skater who has only just made his senior debut. 

Following the triple axel Jiyong told him to do, he skates back towards his coach, reaching for his water bottle. He hasn’t been this anxious about a competition in a long time, and the expression on Jiyong’s face is knowing as he passes Hyungwon the bottle of ice water.

“Nervous?” Jiyong asks.

Hyungwon nods, a little breathless, sipping from the bottle. Jiyong gives him a wry, understanding smile.

“Go do your biellmann,” Jiyong orders as Hyungwon puts the bottle back into his hand.

“Spin or spiral?”

“Spin first, then come back here, then spiral. Remember, tilt your head back when you grab your foot.”

Hyungwon nods and turns back to the ice. As soon as he turns his head, he catches sight of Changkyun; the black haired boy is skating backwards. He’s moving very fast, obviously prepping for a jump, and out of the corner of his eye, Hyungwon sees Marcos Saldaña, also going backwards, is headed right towards him.

It happens too fast. There’s a shout from one of the coaches, but Changkyun, going backwards, clearly hasn’t seen Marcos at all, and Marcos hasn’t seen Changkyun in time to get out of the way. There’s a horrific _CLANG_ as they slam into each other, blades first; Changkyun goes tail over teakettle onto the ice and Marcos lands hard on his side.

From the crowd erupts a chorus of screams, cries, gasps and Hyungwon’s hand flies to his mouth. Marcos manages to sit up, but Changkyun is lying flat on his back, his hand at his left ankle, and he’s turned away from Hyungwon. There’s a long moment of silence. Hyungwon pushes off the wall in Changkyun’s direction before he knows what he’s doing.

He’s yanked back by a firm grip on his arm. When he turns around, Jiyong is holding onto his wrist tightly. Hyungwon opens his mouth, but Jiyong shakes his head. His expression is grim. 

Tethered to Jiyong, all Hyungwon can do is watch helplessly as the medical staff trickle onto the ice. Seungkwan and Jongho are hovering as well, and it becomes clear that Changkyun’s injury is quite serious indeed when the announcer comes on the loudspeaker and requests that all athletes get off the ice to make way for a stretcher. Watching the scene play out from the rink barrier, Hyungwon is almost nauseous, and his heart sinks to his feet with every tense moment.

Once the stretcher carrying Changkyun is taken off the ice, the ice resurfacer is brought back out, and Hyungwon watches with his head in his hands as it clears the torn up ice surface.

“The skaters in the second group before the free skate have been granted an extra three minutes to warm up,” the announcer says loudly. His voice echoes around the dome. Hyungwon waits for him to say something regarding Changkyun, or maybe penalize the Spanish skater, who, to Hyungwon’s fury, seems to be totally fine now. But there’s nothing.

He turns to face Jiyong, who is watching him warily. 

“You’ve got three minutes to pull yourself together, Hyungwon,” Jiyong says slowly, opening the barrier door to the ice. “Show me your biellmann. Remember, tilt your—” 

“—head back,” Hyungwon answers for him. He feels like he’s on autopilot as he steps onto the ice. Nothing is real, now that Changkyun isn’t on the ice with him. Nothing else matters. 

The warm up is over quickly, but Hyungwon still has at least half an hour before he’s supposed to get back on the ice. In between each skater’s turn for the free skate, Hyungwon listens intently for news of Changkyun. He worries he won’t get any news at all, but after Marcos Saldaña gets off the ice, Jiyong steps into the warm up room, and his expression is troubled.

“What is it?” Hyungwon demands. “Is Changkyun gonna compete? He has to!”

Jiyong gives him an even stare. “He won’t be competing tonight, Hyungwon. Heechul withdrew him. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Is it bad?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m hearing that his ankle is broken.”

Hyungwon’s ears start to ring.

His ankle is _broken_? That can’t be right. This _can’t_ be happening. Changkyun has to go to the Olympics with Hyungwon. He _has_ to. _He has to._

Jiyong is saying something, but Hyungwon isn’t listening. 

“Where is he?” Hyungwon interrupts.

“His friends, I believe, have taken him to the hospital.”

“Can I call him? Where’s my phone?”

“Hyungwon, no.” Jiyong says sternly. “Not before you compete.”

“But—Changkyun is—”

“I know, and I’m very sorry it happened. But now is the time to focus on yourself.”

“All I’ve done my whole life is focus on myself!” Hyungwon cries, pulling his arm out of Jiyong’s grip. “Changkyun is hurt—if his ankle is broken, if he can’t compete—there’s no chance he’ll make the Olympic team!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jiyong asks, exasperated. He sounds confused and frustrated. “For years, all you’ve wanted was to compete at the Olympics! This is your chance to make the team, now that Changkyun is injured. He’s your biggest competition!”

“Going to the Olympics with him is my biggest dream,” Hyungwon wails, sitting down heavily on the bench next to his bag. “It’s always been him, Jiyong. He’s all I’ve wanted.”

He buries his hands into his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. He feels on the verge of a breakdown. 

“Hyungwon, I don’t understand,” Jiyong says, crouching in front of Hyungwon. “What is it you want?”

“I don’t know,” Hyungwon manages. “I want him. I don’t know.”

Jiyong sighs. 

“Who’s left to compete?” Hyungwon asks after a silent minute.

Jiyong looks back at Hyungwon. “Seungkwan is about thirty seconds into his free skate, by the sounds of it. You’ve got two minutes to pull yourself together, Hyungwon. I know this sucks, but I need you to get back into a competitive mindset. You’re here to win. You’re here to make the team.”

 _You’re here to make the team._ He’s first after the short program. He’s got a few quads lined up. This is all he’s ever wanted.

So why does it feel so meaningless now?

* * *

Hyungwon throws himself into his free skate with everything he has and then some. He wants Changkyun to watch him and see that if Changkyun can’t go to the Olympics, then Hyungwon will go for both of them. At the last minute, he changes his opening triple loop into a quadruple loop, and he lands it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He pretends like it’s the last performance he’ll ever give the world, and he’s not just skating to make the Olympic team—he’s skating for Changkyun. He’s skating to prove to Changkyun that he loves him.

In third place is Seungkwan. 

Second place is Marcos Saldaña.

Hyungwon tries to not let this make him angry.

He tries to not let it anger him, because he’s the one with the gold medal. He’s the one standing on the first place podium. It’s his national anthem that is playing overhead. It’s his free skate performance that secured a victory.

But without Changkyun on the podium with him, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

* * *

Hoseok is kind of hoping that Changkyun might fall asleep by the time the medal ceremony is televised. He’s cruising on the high of a couple of different pain medications, and Hoseok is sure the shock of what has happened tonight is still setting in. He hopes that’s enough to knock Changkyun out.

But it isn’t. He’d forced himself to stay awake to watch Hyungwon’s performance, and Hoseok has to admit, he’s impressed: he’s impressed with Hyungwon’s free skate, and he’s impressed by Changkyun’s determination to stay awake long enough to watch.

Hoseok is dismayed, though, that by the time the medal ceremony happens, Changkyun is still awake. Kihyun reaches for the hospital room television remote, but Changkyun stops him.

“Let me watch him,” Changkyun says, and Kihyun backs away.

Hyungwon mouths the lyrics to the Korean national anthem as he’s prone to doing, but there isn’t even a little bit of happiness in his expression. 

Kihyun turns the television off after the medal ceremony, and Changkyun doesn’t stop him. He’s lying down in his hospital bed with his foot in a splint, and he’s barely spoken since arriving in the hospital. Heechul had needed to stay in the arena with Seungkwan, Jongho and Yoohyeon, but as far as Hoseok is concerned, he’ll come straight to the hospital as soon as he can.

An hour of silence passes. Hoseok talks mainly to Kihyun and Jooheon, because Changkyun is not in the mood for conversation, and Hoseok doesn’t blame him. He wishes there was something he could do. 

All of them look up when Changkyun’s phone, face up on the desk, begins to vibrate. The screen lights up with an incoming call.

“Who is it?” Changkyun asks, hoping it might be one or both of his parents.

Hoseok leans over to read the screen. His eyebrows furrow. “It’s Hyungwon.”

Jooheon snaps his head around to stare at Changkyun in surprise. “Since when do you have Hyungwon’s number?”

“Don’t answer it,” Kihyun says quickly, eyes wide.

“Give me the phone.” Changkyun says, reaching for it.

“Changkyun—”

“I don’t think—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Give me my phone,” Changkyun repeats firmly.

With an apprehensive sigh, Hoseok reaches for the device and hands it to Changkyun, who takes it with a shaking hand. 

“Put it on speaker,” Jooheon mouths.

Changkyun taps the screen and then holds the phone horizontally so everyone can hear.

“Hy-Hyungwon-ssi,” he says, trying to smile and sound cheerful even as his voice shakes with oncoming tears. “Congratulations o-on your gold.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

_“Is your ankle broken?”_

Changkyun’s smile slips. It’s so like Hyungwon to be so straightforward and blunt. Kihyun shares a glance with Hoseok.

Changkyun gives a watery laugh. “You’ve al-always been bad at accepting c-compliments, Hyungwon-ssi.”

In typical Hyungwon fashion, the older athlete doesn’t humor Changkyun’s attempt to change the subject. 

_“Is it broken, Changkyun?”_

Changkyun swallows. His bottom lip quivers. He closes his eyes and presses the heel of his palm to the skin between his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers disconnectedly. “It’s broken.”

There’s another long pause. 

_“I’m sorry, Changkyun-ah.”_

He sounds truly sorry. Changkyun nods, swallowing, even though Hyungwon can’t see him.

“It-it’s okay,” Changkyun says. Of all the lies he’s ever told, this one has to be the most obvious. “You qualified, didn’t you? That—that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

 _“You don’t have to pretend that you’re okay,”_ Hyungwon says sagely. _“I know you’re not.”_

Changkyun’s expression crumbles, and he hangs up before breaking into a fit of sobs that wrack his entire body. Kihyun is quick to take the phone from him and gather him into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Changkyun,” he whispers, holding Changkyun close. 

It seems the brief phone call with Hyungwon has finally pushed him over the edge. Hoseok is surprised that Changkyun has held himself together for so long. He hadn’t realized how deep Changkyun’s grief is. But Changkyun is truly grieving—Hoseok can see it now, now that he’s breaking down in Kihyun’s arms and Kihyun is holding onto him as if letting go will allow him to fall to irreparable pieces. 

“This meant everything to me!” Changkyun wails. Tears spring to Hoseok’s eyes before he can stop them. 

“I know, Kyun-ah. I’m so, so sorry.”

* * *

Hyungwon drops his phone onto his bed and grabs at his hair, swallowing tears. There’s a click behind him, and he turns to face Jiyong, standing on the threshold of the hotel room. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms folded, and his expression is sympathetic.

“Is it broken?” Jiyong asks.

Hyungwon swallows again and nods. Jiyong shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“There—there has to be something we can do. Something that can be done. There has to be,” Hyungwon pleads. “Assuming he rests and stuff between now and the Olympics, his ankle will be totally healed by the time the games start. Why—why—”

“Hyungwon,” Jiyong says quietly, “you know the rules. If he doesn’t qualify during Worlds, he doesn’t go to the Olympics.”

“Even if he’ll be perfectly fine by this time next year?” Hyungwon whispers. “Korea has been watching him skate against me for _years_ —not taking him to Vancouver is a huge mistake! Can’t they make an exception?”

Jiyong shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that, Hyungwon. I’m sorry.”

“What if he competes in Nebelhorn? He can qualify then—”

“Each country can only send three skaters per discipline, Hyungwon, and Korea already has its three men’s singles’ skaters. You, Seungkwan and Jongho. There’s no room for him on the team, and there won’t be unless any of the three of you leave the team, and you and I both know that’s even less likely.” Jiyong explains. 

He sounds like he’s pitying someone. Hyungwon can’t tell if he pities Changkyun or him. 

* * *

Because Worlds had been held in Seoul, the train ride back home hadn’t taken very long at all, but he’s antsy and shaky the whole way back, still in disbelief and denial. He wishes he could turn back time; he wishes he could erase the 2017 World Championships and start over. 

He’s so angry, too. He’s so angry. He’s angry that the Spanish skater has taken this from Changkyun—in this stupid, avoidable accident, whether intentional or not, Marcos Saldaña has stolen this from him. Dashed it in a heartbeat. In one single moment, Changkyun’s ankle had broken, and everything he had worked for had been yanked out of his reach.

Hyungwon is going to crush Marcos Saldaña in the Olympics if it’s the last thing he ever does.

His first order of business upon returning home is visiting Changkyun. Once at home, he leaves his suitcases, carrying his skates and the stupid gold medal, in the foyer of his apartment, and drops down onto his bed to plug his phone in. Once it’s regained some charge, he opens his messaging app.

_**H.One:** Minhyuk, do you know Changkyun’s apartment address? _

He waits a moment for a response, and it strikes him then that Minhyuk is probably also on his way home. As he waits for Minhyuk’s reply, he begrudgingly drags his suitcases into his room and begins putting his stuff away. He doesn’t spare the gold medal a glance as he hangs it on the medal rack above his desk, and ignores the clinking of the medallions as they clack against each other. He listens intently for his ringtone as he puts away his clothing, and once he hears the text tone, he snatches his phone off the bed in an instant.

_**Minpuppy:** I don’t, but I can ask Kihyun. _

_**Minpuppy:** Congratulations, Hyungwon. I know this probably doesn’t feel like a victory, but I’m proud of you. _

Suddenly there’s tears in Hyungwon’s eyes. He puts his phone down for a second to collect himself.

_**H.One:** Thank you _

_**Minpuppy:** Do you wanna get together and celebrate? I’m happy to treat you to dinner. _

Hyungwon considers it. He doesn’t feel like celebrating anything, and he’s about to tell Minhyuk exactly that, but then another message comes in.

_**Minpuppy:** I don’t want you to feel discouraged because Changkyun didn’t make the team with you. I know you do, and I know this hurts, I know you’re both hurt—but this is a huge deal, Hyungwon, and you’ve been chasing this for years. This is all you’ve wanted since I met you. _

_**Minpuppy:** So, let’s celebrate! We can do anything you want. My treat. _

Hyungwon ponders for a moment, then decides.

_**H.One:** I want to meet your friends _

_**H.One:** Maybe we can all get lunch together? This weekend? _

_**H.One:** Changkyun included. _

_**Minpuppy:** I’ll absolutely make that happen. I’m proud of you, Hyungwon. Don’t forget that. _

Hyungwon smiles.

_**H.One:** I won’t. Can you ask Kihyun for Changkyun’s address, though? I want to talk to him. _

_**Minpuppy:** Sure. _

Half an hour later, as Hyungwon is brushing his teeth, another message from Minhyuk comes in.

_**Minpuppy:** Here’s his address. He should be home already, according to Kihyun. I’m the best friend ever xoxo kissy face emoji _

Hyungwon grins at his phone screen, thanks Minhyuk, and bids him goodnight. He puts the address into his map app, and once he’s determined how far away Changkyun is, he goes to bed. 

* * *

Changkyun’s expression is shocked when he opens his apartment door to see Hyungwon right there. Hyungwon gives him a gentle smile.

“What are you doing here?” Changkyun asks, aghast.

“I wanted to see you,” Hyungwon says. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

Changkyun ushers him inside, and Hyungwon notices immediately that there’s a heavy-looking boot on his foot. 

“It’s temporary,” Changkyun mentions when he catches Hyungwon looking. “They’ll put a cast on this Thursday.”

Hyungwon winces. “Does it hurt?”

Changkyun shakes his head, and Hyungwon can tell it’s a lie.

“You should sit down,” Hyungwon says, taking his shoes off. “Don’t hurt yourself further.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Changkyun asks, even as he’s literally using the back of the sofa to hold himself up. “Did you… need something, or..?”

“Please sit down,” Hyungwon begs.

With a sigh, Changkyun maneuvers himself around the sofa and plops down, though he carefully holds his leg up as he drops onto the cushion. He looks at Hyungwon expectantly.

“I just want to say I’m sorry, Changkyun,” Hyungwon says earnestly. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but…” Hyungwon trails off. His fist clenches at his side. “This just… _sucks_. This sucks so badly. I hate that this has happened like this.”

“Why are you so upset, Hyungwon? You made the team,” Changkyun says hoarsely.

“Because it wasn’t supposed to go like this!” Hyungwon cries, finally at his wit’s end. “It was _supposed_ to be you and me—you and me against the world—you and me against _each other_ —and may the best skater win. _That’s_ how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be you, Changkyun. It’s always been you.”

“What’s always been me? Hyungwon, I don’t understand,” Changkyun shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I love you, Changkyun, don’t you see?” Hyungwon bursts. “I’ve always loved you. _It’s always been you._ ”

Changkyun stares at him. Hyungwon can’t read his expression. He’s sure Changkyun did not wake up this morning expecting Hyungwon to come to his apartment and confess his love for him. 

Hyungwon didn’t even realize the words were true until he said them. He does love Changkyun. He loves him a lot.

Changkyun seems to be fumbling for something to say. Hyungwon’s heart begins to sink to his stomach. _What have I done?_

Hyungwon opens his mouth to say something—though, what he would have said, he doesn’t know—but then Changkyun is on his feet. Using different objects in his room as crutches, he limps towards Hyungwon and before Hyungwon can even blink, Changkyun takes him by the face and kisses him firmly on the lips.

Changkyun’s hands are warm on Hyungwon’s cheeks. He kisses back, and with every second that goes by, his heart lightens.

When they break apart, Changkyun leans his head on Hyungwon’s shoulder, his nose tucked into the crook of Hyungwon’s neck. He’s still standing solely on one foot; Hyungwon snakes one arm around Changkyun’s waist to help hold him up.

“When you go to Vancouver,” Changkyun begins at last, speaking slowly, “you’re going to skate your heart out, and you’re going to come home with that gold medal. And you’re gonna do it even though I won’t be there with you.”

“You deserve to be there with me,” Hyungwon whispers. “There’s nothing you deserve more than to be in Vancouver with me.”

Changkyun looks up at him with a sad smile, and runs his thumb over Hyungwon’s sharp cheekbone.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Changkyun says. Hyungwon doesn’t know how he can possibly believe that.

“Yes, it was,” Hyungwon says firmly. He won’t accept any other answer. The Spanish skater has stolen this from Changkyun—whether or not it was on purpose is debatable, but it’s horribly unfair that after such a collision, the Spanish man will advance to the Olympics, and Changkyun will not.

“There’s nothing we can do about it now. It hurts, but I’m coping. I want you to focus on you.”

“I’ll only be thinking about you.”

“But this is your time to shine, Hyungwon,” Changkyun says earnestly, looking at him deeply in the eyes. “We can’t change anything about how Worlds happened. You made the team, Hyungwon. _That’s_ what we should be celebrating. You’re going to go to Vancouver! You will have your moment where the _whole world_ is watching you. I want you to enjoy that moment. I want it to be the best moment of your life!”

He’s right, Hyungwon decides. He’ll need more time to grieve—hell, they both will—but ultimately, Changkyun is right. He’s been pursuing this his whole life. He’s going to make every tear shed, every drop of blood bled, everything—he’s going to make it worth it. 

They don’t exchange many words after that. They stand in silence, basking in each other’s presence, and that’s enough for Hyungwon.

* * *

The next time Hyungwon sees Changkyun, it’s at the restaurant Minhyuk has decided they’ll meet to celebrate Hyungwon’s victory. Hyungwon arrives with Minhyuk to find that Changkyun, Jooheon, and two strangers are already there, as is Hyunwoo, who Hyungwon is both not surprised and surprised to see.

And Changkyun is in crutches. His foot is encased in a dark purple cast. The sight stings something truly bitter.

But he’s smiling. As soon as he makes eye contact with Hyungwon, he grins that stupid fanged grin Hyungwon loves so much, and Hyungwon feels a rush of affection for him. They don’t call him “Korea’s Sunshine” for nothing, after all.

Changkyun introduces his companions—the smaller one with hair the color of peach candy is the famous Kihyun, and the other one is Hoseok, who, Hyungwon has to admit, is actually built like the Hulk. He greets Hyungwon with a giant smile, though, so Hyungwon he isn’t nearly as scary as he looks.

Besides, they’re Changkyun’s friends. How scary could they be?

He learns Kihyun and Changkyun have been friends since Changkyun moved back to Korea, and he quickly realizes that Kihyun is particularly protective of Changkyun—but Hyungwon doesn’t blame him. He’s protective of Changkyun as well.

He knows Kihyun is protective by the way he carefully maneuvers the conversation so it doesn’t end up being about the World Championships or the upcoming Olympics. Hyungwon isn’t blind to Kihyun’s methods, and he’s actually a little impressed, and more than grateful. He doesn’t want to discuss skating right now, either.

Despite Kihyun's efforts, though, at some point the conversation takes a turn, and a comment made by Minhyuk about Marcos Saldaña has Hyungwon’s blood boiling again.

“Did they determine that it was an accident?” Jooheon asks, and it seems as though he’s been dying to ask this question since they got there. 

“That’s what they said it was,” Changkyun says with a little sigh. “He kept denying that it was on purpose in the press conference.”

“I don’t buy it.” Hyungwon says bitterly.

Kihyun looks at him sharply. There’s warning laced in his gaze, sharp like a knife. “Why would Saldaña hit him on purpose?”

“Not every athlete is a good sport,” Hyungwon says. “And Changkyun has been crushing Saldaña in competition since he made his senior debut.”

“At the very least, there should have been a penalty,” Minhyuk adds. “He was going fast enough to _break_ Changkyun’s _ankle_ , which is scary enough on its own, and if you ask me, if he’d have been paying attention he’d have had enough time to get out of the way.”

Hyungwon nods in agreement.

“Why are you so hung up on it, Hyungwon?” Changkyun asks. He doesn’t sound angry or accusing, but he does sound tired, and Hyungwon realizes that Changkyun is probably tired of thinking and talking about this. 

“Because it isn’t fair that he gets to go to the Olympics and you don’t,” Hyungwon says simply. He’ll say it until he dies. “He was at fault. He should have been watching out.”

Changkyun chooses not to answer, sipping from his drink instead. His lack of a response, Hyungwon thinks, proves that he agrees with him, but, for whatever reason, doesn’t wish to voice it out loud.

“We could bash his knee in with a crowbar,” Jooheon says suddenly.

Everyone turns to look at Jooheon in surprise. His cheeks and the tips of his ears redden slightly.

“Is that too nineties?” he asks with a shy smile.

Changkyun laughs out loud. It’s not the first time Hyungwon has heard him laugh, but this is a true, full laugh—it echoes around the restaurant, fills it from corner to corner, bounces gleefully off the walls. It’s music to Hyungwon’s ears.

“Let’s not do anything that will get either of us banned from skating for life,” Changkyun giggles. “I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Minhyuk, Hyungwon and Kihyun join him in his laughter, and Jooheon grins like an idiot, but Hoseok is looking between them as if they’ve both grown second heads.

“What are you talking about?” Hoseok asks, aghast. Hyunwoo looks just as perplexed.

“Does the name Tonya Harding mean anything to you?” Minhyuk asks, also smiling.

Hoseok and Hyunwoo shake their heads.

“Nancy Kerrigan? Lillehammer? Nineteen-ninety-four?”

They still look clueless. Hyungwon can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter.

The luncheon is definitely something he needed, he decides. Laughing with his friends is an excellent medicine; he walks away from the restaurant feeling lighter than air itself, even though he knows he has a long few months of preparation ahead of him.

* * *

**_Winter Olympic Games. Vancouver, Canada. February 2018._ **

Hyungwon has the world eating out of the palm of his hand. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him and him alone. Sweat trickles down his spine. His heart is racing.

He’s the last skater to perform in the free skate, being first after the short program. He fidgets with his gloves, and behind him, on the other side of the barrier, Jiyong places his hands on his shoulders. Hyungwon lets himself be grounded by the weight of Jiyong’s hands on his shoulders.

“Deep breath,” Jiyong orders.

Hyungwon inhales, holds it for four seconds, and exhales. All he can hear are the cheers and screams of the people in the audience, but he’s trying his best not to look at them. Somewhere in the crowd, Changkyun is sitting with their friends, and he knows that if he looks at the audience, he’ll try to find Changkyun’s face.

“Representing the Republic of South Korea, please welcome Chae Hyungwon!”

Hyungwon turns around and grips Jiyong’s hand tightly. Jiyong gives him a deep stare, and a small smile.

"I'm scared," Hyungwon admits.

"I know. It's okay," Jiyong says.

Jiyong shakes Hyungwon's hand firmly.

“One element at a time,” he says.

“One element at a time.” Hyungwon repeats.

Jiyong shakes his hand. Hyungwon pushes off the wall, spreads his arms. He takes another deep breath as the cheers fade, and the air in the Olympic arena is heavy with anxiety, excitement, apprehension.

The music begins. He allows it to take him away; he allows himself to get lost in the piano and violin. He pretends he’s at home, performing for no one, performing for himself.

He’s not performing for himself, though. He’s performing for no one other than Changkyun.

His first jump is his quadruple loop. He pumps his fist as he lands it solidly, relieved now that the hardest jump is out of the way. His next two jumps are also quads, but he lands them both cleanly as well, and only then can he truly relax. Only then can he let his body do what it knows how to do.

He lands his triple axel-double toe. Four jumps down. The music slows, becomes softer, and with it, so do his movements. He extends fully through his feet, stretches his arms and waves as though he’s flying.

He is flying, he thinks, as he nails his fifth jump, a triple lutz-triple toe. Only two more.

The music speeds up. His heartbeat speeds up too. Another triple axel—one more jump to go. He can’t hear anything except the music and the beating of his own heart in his ears. 

His limbs tingle as he goes for his last jump—a triple loop-triple loop—and his skate touches down on the ice and he spreads his arms with all the confidence in the world and the crowd’s cheers break through the music and the blood pulsing through his ears and he lets it carry him away. His final element, a flying spin sequence—he leaps into it with every ounce of power he can muster and spins and spins and spins and—

And he stops, and his arm is stretched towards the sky. And the crowd is on its feet, and there’s little purple bears flying at him from all directions, and he’s crying—oh, god, he did it—and he sinks to his knees, and he barely feels the cold ice as it soaks through his costume pants.

He sobs into his hands—it’s like a dam has been broken and now there’s no stopping him—and his ears are ringing from the adrenaline, from the screaming, from the pure bliss coursing through his body. He feels electric, like he could run a mile, and he knows his face is a mess as he stands back up, but he doesn’t care because he did it.

Jiyong is crying when Hyungwon meets him at the barrier, and he pulls Hyungwon into a hug—the first he’s ever received from the coach—and there aren’t any words exchanged between them as they await the score, the score that will decide everything.

“Chae Hyungwon has earned, in the free skate…”

The world holds its breath.

“...two hundred and ten point nine seven points…”

And Hyungwon might as well have gone deaf. The rest of the announcer’s words are lost in the chaos that becomes the arena, and Hyungwon can barely see through his tears what his final score is:

321.45. 

He will go down in history as an Olympian who has broken three Olympic records, and in that moment, all he can think about is Changkyun. Changkyun, Changkyun— _did he see me? Did he watch? Is he proud?_

Of course Hyungwon knows the answer to all those questions is yes, but reality hasn’t quite caught up with him yet and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He kisses the gold medal around his neck, holds his flag, and sings along to his national anthem during the medal ceremony, and although most of him just wants to enjoy this moment, this moment where everyone is looking at him, he just wants to see Changkyun.

* * *

It’s another entire day before Hyungwon finally gets to see Changkyun. They meet after the gala. The Olympic gala had gone one about four hours, and Hyungwon is absolutely exhausted, but he’s driven by the knowledge that when he gets to the bar in the hotel, he’ll meet with Changkyun and the rest of their friends.

He’d already celebrated the victory with Seungkwan, the bronze medalist, and the Japanese skater, Nakamoto Yuta, who had won silver. They stood together on the podiums, skated together during the gala, and Hyungwon had met many, many new skaters and made some wonderful new friends from all across the globe. The word “congratulations” could only be heard too many times, and by the end of the gala Hyungwon just wanted to have fun, just wanted to be around people. He just wanted to be with his friends.

Of course, the party doesn’t end after the gala. It seems all of the skaters have chosen to gather in the hotel bar, filling the giant room to max capacity, and all around Hyungwon are the athletes he’d just skated with in the gala, dressed in beautiful outfits and dancing and drinking. Dressed in a simple black button down and skinny black pants, he wades through the people, bowing and nodding in greeting to everyone he sees, until he again runs into Seungkwan. The bronze medalist is dressed smartly in a suit, and there’s a taller boy with him.

“Hyungwon!” Seungkwan calls, and drags him over. “This is Vernon, my boyfriend!”

“Nice to meet you,” Vernon grins a giant gummy smile as he and Hyungwon bow politely.

“Are you looking for Changkyun?” Seungkwan asks. He almost has to yell over the music.

“Yeah,” Hyungwon nods. “Have you seen him?”

“He went in that direction with someone who had pink hair,” Seungkwan says, waving in the direction of the bar.

Kihyun, Hyungwon’s mind supplies. 

“Thank you!” he says with a grin, and with another nod at Vernon he ducks back into the crowd and fights his way towards the bar.

All at once, the crowd parts, and when Hyungwon sees him, it’s like the entire world stops turning.

Having gotten his cast removed a few months ago, he’s totally healed and perfectly fine. He stands next to the bar, and the rest of their friends are clumped around him. They’re all dressed to impress, but Changkyun stands out to Hyungwon the most—his hair, beautiful and black as the night, is slicked back, and he’s wearing a ruby red button down and black skinny jeans. Hyungwon recognizes the glitter of silver jewelry in his ears and around his neck.

He doesn’t notice Hyungwon at first, engaged animatedly in conversation with Kihyun. Minhyuk makes eye contact with Hyungwon first, but instead of pouncing on him himself, he taps Changkyun on the shoulder, and when Changkyun looks at him in question, he points at Hyungwon.

Hyungwon barely has time to smile before his arms are full of Changkyun, and it feels like it’s been so long since he’s held Changkyun this way. They’d seen each other only very fleetingly in the months before the Olympics, and now that he’s finally here in his arms, Hyungwon never wants to let go of him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Changkyun interrupts him by crushing their mouths together. He’s vaguely aware of the cheers and cries of shock and laughter that erupt around them, but focuses mainly on the way Changkyun’s lips feel on his own, and kisses back as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“I am so proud of you,” Changkyun whispers, and under the heavy loudness of the music, Hyungwon can barely hear him, but the words are as clear as day when Hyungwon is staring at his lips.

The words, coming from Changkyun, mean more than anything anyone else could say to him. 

There might be an Olympic gold medal tucked into his suitcase back in his hotel room, but tonight, his mind is on Changkyun.

Changkyun, tucked against his body, fitted nicely in the crook of his arm, is a better weight than any gold medal he could ever wear.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading uwu! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> Come say hi to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/mytinystars)


End file.
